“Great.” Sean rolled his eyes. He just hoped none of the officers had talked to Lopez and revealed any of the details they wanted to keep hidden from the public—like the severed finger.
“In fact—” Courtney rose from the table and stepped down into the living room, where she swept the remote from the coffee table “—I think he’s on right now.”
A commercial blared from the TV and Courtney tossed the remote on the couch. “I’m going to soak in the tub and scrub off my clients’ troubles. I’m sure I’ll see you later, Detective Brody.”
“Sean, and sorry again for intruding on your space.”
She waved a manicured hand. “Any...friend of Elise’s is welcome as long as she’s staying here.”
Sean turned back to the TV just as Lopez’s program began. As Courtney promised, Lopez jumped right into Katie Duncan’s murder and connected it to Elise’s escape the night before, although he didn’t mention Elise’s name on the air.
Lopez stared into the camera. “The autopsy report on Katie isn’t finished yet, but preliminary reports suggest she received a blow to the head before she was sliced.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Elise crossed her arms and perched on the arm of the couch.
“Didn’t think I had to. We knew her murder was connected to your assailant.”
The next shot featured Lopez stationed in front of the Speakeasy, and Elise’s grip on her upper arms tightened.
“In the attack in front of this club, the killer pretended to be injured with a cast on his arm, and then used the plaster cast to viciously hit the victim over the head. This incapacitated her, and he was able to stuff her into the trunk of his vehicle.”
Lopez went on to describe the vehicle and show Elise’s composite sketch.
“We can turn this off.” Sean reached for the remote, but Elise snatched it up first.
“Wait. I want to watch the rest.”
As the half-hour show drew to a close, Lopez was back in the studio. “The interesting thing about these murders is that this city has seen something like this before.”
Sean’s eye twitched and he tightened his jaw. He wanted to punch his fist through the TV as Lopez continued blabbing.
“Almost twenty years ago, another serial killer in the city used the same M.O. He feigned an injury to lure in his victims, knocked them out and then cut them to ribbons.”
Elise murmured something that Sean couldn’t hear over the pounding in his head.
“That serial killer murdered five women but was never caught. And the strangest thing about that old case and this new one?” He paused for dramatic effect. “The killer twenty years ago was communicating with SFPD Homicide Detective Joseph Brody, and the current killer is communicating with Brody’s son, SFPD Homicide Detective Sean Brody.”
Elise gasped. “Sean?”
And then there it was. A picture of a young officer with dark hair and brooding eyes.
Not satisfied, Lopez continued in his awed voice. “The story gets even more bizarre. Detective Joseph Brody was actually suspected of being the murderer, and the killings stopped after Brody threw himself from the Golden Gate Bridge.”
Chapter Eleven
The remote fell from Elise’s hands, and she flinched as it hit the table. “Sean?”
Without turning to face her, he leaned sideways and grabbed the remote control, the muscles in his forearm corded and tense.
The TV went silent although Ray Lopez was still moving his lips.
“I-is all that true, what he said about your father?” She licked her lips, and her gaze dropped to his tattoo. What else had he been keeping from her?
He placed the remote on the coffee table with a click, put his hands on his knees and pushed up from the couch. He took one turn around the room and then stopped in front of her.
“It’s not true.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “It is true.”
She searched his face, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the deep grooves on each side of his mouth. “Just tell me the truth, Sean. I want to know the truth.”
“My father was a homicide detective, and there was a string of murders—similar to Katie Duncan’s but not exactly.”
“Like Lopez said, the M.O. was the same? The killer used some fake infirmity to trick his victims?”
“Yes.” He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Faked an injury to catch the victims off guard.”
“The killer communicated with your father?”
“He did, but I told you before, that’s not so uncommon.”
She folded her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers. “What about the other part? Was your father really suspected of being the killer?”
Sean slammed his fist into his palm. “That’s a lie. My father never killed anyone.”
“Except himself.”
Sean’s face blanched, and his lips tightened. “At the height of the investigation, someone witnessed a man jumping from the bridge and items belonging to my father were found there. The Coast Guard never found his body.”
“I’m sorry.” The words bubbled to her lips. How could she be angry with him for withholding the truth from her when such pain filled his eyes?
Squeezing those eyes shut, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because of his suicide and because the killing stopped afterward, the department suspected him, but nobody was ever able to prove anything—not even that he committed suicide.”
“You don’t believe he killed himself even though his stuff was left on the bridge?”
“I don’t think he would’ve done that to us. We got nothing. His life insurance wouldn’t pay out and neither would the department.”
“Sean.” She reached out and trailed her fingers down his arm. When they skimmed over his tattoo, she snatched her hand back.
“What about the rest of it? Was there any proof that he was the killer?”
Sean plowed a hand through his hair again. “There was plaster of Paris in his patrol car. But would he really be stupid enough to leave that in his patrol car? Someone planted it.”
“You think someone was setting him up for the murders?”
“Absolutely. There’s no way...my father could never be capable of anything like that.”
Of course he’d say that about his father. He’d been a boy. How could he know for sure?
“Why would someone set him up? Who?”
“You don’t think I’ve gone through this in my mind a million times? I can only guess, but I think it was probably the real killer. He taunted my father and then set him up so he could get away with murder.”
“The murders stopped when your father...killed himself?”
“Exactly.” Sean smacked a hand on the counter. “That was the whole point. It got the killer off the hook.”
“And then he just stopped killing? Isn’t it unusual for a serial killer to stop on his own?”
“It’s not typical, but it does happen. Besides, how do we know he didn’t move to some other big city to continue his spree?”
She held out her hand. “Wait a minute. So you think a serial killer made contact with your dad and when your dad starting closing in, the killer started planting evidence implicating your father? When your father jumped, the killer packed up and started plying his trade somewhere else to escape?”
Sean nodded as he clenched his hands into fists.
“Why would your father commit suicide? Was the evidence against him that strong?”
“I don’t know. That’s the hardest piece of this puzzle for me to figure out. My dad—he wasn’t one to run from a fight. If he was innocent, and I know he was, he would’ve stood up to his accusers. He would’ve proved his innocence.”
Elise edged through the space between them, vibrating with t
ension, with a slow, cautious gait. She placed her hand on Sean’s tight arm. “But he didn’t do that, Sean.”
Raw emotion flashed across his face, twisting his features into a mask of pain.
Trailing her fingers across his tense jawline, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
His chest heaved and he caught her hand in his warm grip. “I can’t figure out why he did it, Elise. I know he’s no killer, but I guess he was a coward.”
“You were a child, Sean.” She squeezed his hand. “You can’t know what demons he faced. You can’t get into someone’s head like that.”
His lips twisted and he raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Courtney thinks she can.”
“And maybe if your father had been able to see a good therapist like Courtney, she could’ve gotten inside his head.”
Sean’s eyes widened and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You’ve just given me a great idea.”
With the impression of his lips still burning her skin, Elise smiled. “Do you want me to get Courtney down here so she can shrink your head?”
“No, thanks.” He dropped her hand and took a turn around the room. “I went through my father’s files when I started working with the department, and I noticed that he’d been referred to a psychologist specializing in law enforcement issues. The referral had been made when the killer started communicating with him, before he became a suspect in the killings.”
“Did he go?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t follow up on it.”
Missing his touch, she crossed her arms and pulled out a chair from the kitchen table. “Courtney would be the first one to tell you about client confidentiality. You can’t go barging into a therapist’s office asking about his or her patients.”
“Even after twenty years? Even if the patient is dead?” He parked himself on the arm of Courtney’s white brocade couch.
“I don’t know how long confidentiality lasts. What are you hoping to find?”
“Answers, Elise. I need answers, especially because I’m afraid the whole thing is happening again.”
“Was the therapist’s name in your father’s file?”
Sean scratched his chin. “No, but the department uses the same ones, so I’m sure I’ll be able to find out whom we were using back then. Plus, I have my sources in the department.”
“Would the powers that be allow you to reopen your father’s case?”
He snorted. “Not likely. They’d rather forget about it. I’m sure there were plenty in the department who didn’t want to hire me in the first place. If I start making trouble, that faction will use that as justification.”
“But you still have sources?”
“Yeah. One of the most powerful people in the department.”
“Chief Stoddard?”
“Chief Marie.” He winked.
“Who’s Chief Marie?”
“Marie Giardano. She keeps our records.”
“Ah, friends in high places.”
“She worked there when my father did, and she knew both of my parents. She never believed he was the Phone Book Killer, either.”
She raised her eyebrows at the name. “I’m assuming he picked his victims out of the phone book?”
“In alphabetical order, starting with the letter D.”
Gasping, Elise clutched her throat. “Just like Duran and Duncan.”
“You see why it looks like déjà vu to me?”
“Sean—” she reached out and traced her fingertips along the wings of his tattoo “—do you think your ink has anything to do with it?”
He shivered beneath her touch. “Of course I thought about it. That’s why I freaked out in a totally unprofessional manner when you told me about your attacker’s tattoo.”
“Do you think he’s some kind of copycat?” She covered her mouth with her hands. “Is that what the message on my mirror was all about?” She cinched his arm. “Is someone going to start trying to pin these murders on you?”
“I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, wedging his thumbs against her collarbones. “I didn’t want to drag you into all of this, Elise. It’s ancient history to most people, but it haunts me every day, every day I catch a glimpse of the bridge.”
Her heart ached for this man and the burden he carried. Her issues with her family and Ty seemed trivial compared with Sean Brody’s family legacy.
She encircled his wrists with her fingers. “I am involved, Sean, and it’s not ancient history to me. It’s my story, right now. And I want to help you in any way I can.”
His dark eyes burned into hers, and she didn’t look away. She didn’t ever want to look away. She wanted to get lost in the depths of his soul and bring light to his darkness.
When his lips touched hers, they scorched her with their heat and passion. She sagged against his chest, and he wrapped one arm around her waist.
He deepened the kiss and she drank him in, getting drunk on the sensations that swirled through her body. Who needed wine? She had Sean Brody.
Courtney yelped from the top of the stairs, and they jumped apart.
She called down. “This new client is going to be a pain. First session today, and he’s already calling me after hours.”
Elise rolled her eyes at Sean. “Is it an emergency?”
“He thinks so, but I talked him down from the ledge, so to speak.” Courtney stopped on the staircase, clutching her phone in her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still here, Sean.”
He held up his hand. “I’m on my way out.”
“Don’t let me scare you away.” She drew a circle around her face, which was caked with green paste. “When this comes off, I’m more beautiful than ever.”
Elise slipped her arm through his. “I’ll walk you out. Thanks for dinner.”
“My pleasure.” He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I hope you’re feeling better after today’s events.”
“I feel fine, but it’ll be nice having the Oakland P.D. patrolling the school this week.”
“And your leg?”
“Stiff and sore, but it could be worse, right?”
“You’re tough, kid.”
“It’s like you said before. He’s going to make a mistake soon.”
He cupped her face with one hand and brushed his lips against hers. “I just don’t want you getting burned.”
As she watched him walk down the hallway to the elevator, she murmured, “Too late for that, Sean Brody. Too late for that.”
Chapter Twelve
Sean hunched over the counter, studied Marie’s lined face and gave her his best smile. “I know where the boxes are, Marie.”
She tapped a pen on top of the log book. “You should. You’ve practically worn a path in the linoleum back there over the years.”
He plucked the pen from her fingers, the long red fingernails at odds with her age-spotted skin, and slid the log book toward him.
Marie snatched it away. “You don’t need to sign in, Sean.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since the brass has been snooping through the books.”
His pulse jumped. “Looking for what?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” She raised her plump shoulders. “I just don’t think they need to see your name written in ink checking out your dad’s case files again. Especially now.”
He leaned in closer, his breath fogging the glass in the window. “What are you hearing?”
“I’m hearing a killer has you on speed dial.”
“And?” He licked his lips.
“J
ust that.”
Sean dropped the pen. “Maybe I don’t need to look through the boxes again.”
“Be my guest. I won’t remember that you were here. My memory is notoriously bad on Tuesdays.”
“Even Tuesdays twenty years ago?”
“Mmm, back then I had trouble with Saturdays.” She put her finger on the side of her prominent nose. “What am I supposed to recall about twenty years in the past besides the fact that I had cleavage that could cause whiplash?”
“You still got it, Marie.”
“You Brody boys are all charmers.” She tapped on the glass with one of her long nails. “Tell me what you need.”
Sean folded his hands on top of the log book, pressing his thumbs together. “Who did the department use for therapy in those days? You know, for officer-involved shootings, alcoholism, the works.”
She laughed, a sharp bark that filled the small front office of the records room. “I thought you were going to test me, Brody.”
“You remember without even looking?”
“The department used only one guy in those days, and we had him for eighteen years. Dr. James Patrick. He retired just seven years ago. That’s who your dad would’ve seen.”
“Did he see him?”
Marie looked both ways. “I don’t know, but I do know they made the recommendation. Usually when the department makes the recommendation, you’d better follow through or it could be your job.”
“It wound up being his life.”
Marie reached through the space under the window and patted Sean’s arm. “He must’ve had a good reason to do that, Sean, leaving you and your brothers and Joanne. Someone or something drove him to it, and I don’t believe for one minute it was guilt over any murders.”
“I appreciate that, Marie.”
She coughed her smoker’s cough. “If you appreciate it so much, why don’t you send those good-looking brothers of yours over here to visit an old lady?”
“I’ll get right on it—after I solve this case.”
“Which case, Sean?”
He slapped the log book. “You’re a lifesaver, Marie.”
THE BRIDGE Page 12